Aksel moved back to his room at the poikataloja. That summer was the best summer for years. The northwest wind blew steadily and the sky was clear. There were even a few days when the temperature soared to the mideighties. Lumber prices were also soaring. Matti had his crews on overtime, something new in an industry that used to pay by the day. Aksel and the Bachelor Boys were making money. Matti was making a lot of money. He invested it in the stock market and timber. The sawmills and plywood mills all along the river ran shifts into the night; darkness was no longer even the slightest impediment to production, because of electric lights. The salmon run was strong, although not as strong now as a quarter of a century earlier, but the catch was up because the gill net boats were now powered by internal combustion engines instead of sails. The nets cost less, so they were longer and heavier but could now be handled, along with all the fish in them, by the newly powered boats. The canneries hummed with the sound of conveyor belts and hundreds of women cutting the fish, packing the pieces into cans, and chattering as they worked at the long cutting tables.
Aksel came home exhausted but content. Every morning he arrived at work and the smell of the forest made the air sweet. The days were filled with problems of rigging and yarding and the contentment of working with a crew that was savvy and strong and could develop wild satires the equal of any comedian’s on the vaudeville circuit.
And he could come home to Aino. He remembered watching her with longing as she worked in the dining hall of Reder’s Camp. Now, as he watched her working, his only longing was to get her alone, just the two of them. And that longing was fulfilled every night but never by sex. They would talk—sometimes in his room, sometimes in her basement apartment—and occasionally touch or kiss, but that was where it stopped.
Aino, despite an occasional crack about free love and the idiocy of marriage in earlier days, deep down never really believed what she was saying. Her single indiscretion with Joe Hillström had left her feeling flat and used, not only costing her job but also bringing pain to Jouka and the child she loved. She still thought society was cruel and petty; what she had done wasn’t morally wrong. It was, however, psychologically and emotionally wrong—at least for her.
Aksel, who in his younger days had been with every whore at the Lucky Logger and prostitutes up and down the coast all the way to Nordland, learned the sweetness of love with Lempi. He wanted that sweetness again with Aino. He wondered when he should ask her to marry him and she wondered when he would ask.
On Saturday nights, they danced at Suomi Hall. Now dances like the Charleston and the Black Bottom mixed in with the schottisches, hambos, and polkas. Then, one Saturday in September brought a new band from Portland, Big John and the Jazz Syncopators. John was reputed to be one of the hottest jazz trumpeters in the Northwest—and people said he was a Finn, which made him even more intriguing. When the musicians walked out from behind the curtains to take up their positions at the bottom of the stage, Aino gasped and covered her mouth with her hands. Aksel broke into a broad grin. Taking Aino by the hand, he pulled her willing or not—and about that she wasn’t sure—but suddenly here she was, holding Aksel’s left hand while Aksel shook Jouka’s hand with his right.
She looked into Jouka’s eyes and was flooded with memories of dances at the Knappton net shed. There was no bitterness in his eyes. He seemed genuinely glad to see them both.
“Hello, Aino,” he said in English. “How are you? How’s Eleanor?”
“I’m fine.” She squeezed Aksel’s hand. “We’re fine,” she went on in Finnish. “She’s good, too. I see her most weekends. She’s with Ilmari and Alma right now.”
Jouka nodded with a wistful smile. He turned to Aksel, staying in Finnish. “You fishing yet?”
Aksel shook his head no. “Not yet. Had the money. Lost it.”
“How?”
“Long story. Better told elsewhere.”
Jouka nodded knowingly.
“Working for Matti,” Aksel said.
“How is he?”
“Same as ever. Logging. Making good money.”
“Times are good,” Jouka said. He began to touch the valves on the trumpet, impatient to start. It was then Aino noticed that his left hand was crushed and missing three fingers. She gasped.
Jouka looked at her and then at his arm, which he raised, as if it no longer belonged to him. “Yeah, hurt it on a show down by Roseburg. Stumbled. Reached out to catch myself. Caught a moving cable drum instead. Wrapped the hand right up with the cable.” He laughed—the good sport. She winced inwardly with pain.
Jouka raised the trumpet in his right hand. “Hey—everything for the best, right? You only need three fingers for this thing.”
Nobody spoke. “Well, gotta go. We owe the brotherhood four hours.”
She reached out suddenly and kissed him on the cheek. He smiled, moved by the gesture. She smelled the whiskey on his breath.
Even though Aksel and Aino were a known couple, men constantly asked Aino for a dance—and, having grown to manhood in a time and place where women were scarce, Aksel didn’t mind. Now that women were no longer scarce—at least in the cities and towns—he danced with other women as well and the women, both married and single, were delighted.
They talked with Jouka again during the break. At the last dance he called out, “And now, a special request. From me.” He turned to the band, counted a three-four cadence, and played “Lördagsvalsen,” his trumpet sweet and clear, filled with joy, sadness, and nostalgia such as only a superb musician could evoke. For most of the people in the room it was a beautiful old-country waltz played on jazz band instruments. For Jouka, it was a blessing given—and for Aino and Aksel, a blessing received.
They were mostly quiet walking back to the poikataloja, Aksel holding Aino in close to him, both not wanting to spoil the mood set by Jouka’s blessing. The air was autumn crisp. Stars shone brilliantly, the waning moon having set an hour earlier. The Milky Way looked as though a child had splashed light right across the center of the sky. Aksel looked for Arcturus, feeling that he wanted to share his happiness with his star, but Arcturus had set. He turned to find the Big Dipper, found it just about due north, just above the Washington-side hills, and he quickly traced the pointers to find Polaris. Finding it, he turned his gaze back to the electric streetlights, showing yellow puddles that could never rival the sky.
They ended up lying together on top of Aino’s bed, both clothed, looking at the ceiling. Aksel smoked while he talked until he stubbed it out on a saucer on the floor beside him. The mood had been set for intimacy and sharing.
“Do you think Jouka will be OK?” Aino asked.
“He’s still drinking.”
“I know. Sometimes I feel it’s my fault.”
“Everyone knows he drank before you met him.”
“Yes. But … him being … You know, out there on his own.”
“Don’t torture yourself. We all have regrets.”
“What are yours?” Aino asked. She turned her head to Aksel just as he turned his head to her. This made them both smile with a quiet joy. “You go first,” Aksel said.
They started small. She would share one and then he’d share one. She felt aglow with the honesty, the openness. Here was a man with whom she could live her life out. She hesitated when she got to Joe Hillström but plunged in. She turned again to see his reaction. He was looking up at the ceiling.
“You don’t mind?”
“It’s no secret, Aino,” he said with a sad smile.
“It’s OK. Hell, I screwed every whore in the Lucky Logger, more than once. A lot more.”
“Did you ever cheat on Lempi?”
“Do you wish I had?”
“In a way,” she sighed. “Well?”
“I didn’t.”
That was the answer she wanted to hear but didn’t want to hear. Her guilt was hers alone.
“What was it about him?” Aksel asked. “There were rumors of you two at the Nordland free-speech fight as well.”
She had to gather her thoughts.
“He was just like Voitto: clever, committed to the cause, alive.” She gave a short chortle. “Good-looking.”
“That was a hard time. Back in the old country.”
“It was.”
“You were in Voitto’s cell with my brother, Gunnar.”
“I was.”
“Did he die in the raid?” Aksel asked.
“Gunnar?”
“Voitto. I know Gunnar’s story.” He swallowed a little nervously. “I know it very well.”
Now the silence was a waiting silence, a pregnant silence.
“I think I killed Voitto,” Aino said in a whisper.
Aksel squeezed her hand, brought it up to his mouth and kissed it, then put it back and looked her in the eyes. “How? How could you have done that?”
“I was arrested right after the raid.”
“I know. Matti told me.”
“Did he tell you they tortured me?”
“It was only implied.”
She felt herself starting to tremble. She couldn’t stop it. She felt his grip firm on her hand. The tears were building, like a thousand logs against a splash dam about to be exploded with dynamite.
She told him every detail.
Aksel crushed her in his arms, as if protecting her. The sobbing was beyond her control. “I told them the name of the man hiding Voitto. They found him. Oh, God, Aksel. What they must’ve done to him.” He was smothering her face with kisses, wiping her tears gently, and then kissing her again.
The sobbing stopped. She felt him roll off her and lie back beside her again. They were quiet for a long time.
Then he said very softly. “I killed my brother, Gunnar.”
Now she felt him heave slightly. Then she felt a dark premonition, something lurking in the shadows of her intuition, and she didn’t want it to come to light
“I couldn’t stand the thought that Finnish people, our own aunt, could be killed,” Aksel said. “I found the dynamite. I … I was fourteen. I hit him with a rock. I tied him up and tried to send a note to the Finnish workers.” He looked at her in anguish. “Oh, Aino. I’m so sorry. I had no idea what would happen. To my brother. To you.”
She gasped as her dark premonition came to light. She moved away from him. He looked at her, his eyes imploring her for something—some forgiveness, some understanding.
The anger came like the rapids of her name. It caught her like a small twig and she went whirling down the rocks into a chasm. She had loved Aksel. Right up until this moment when he revealed he was the one man she swore she could never forgive.
He stood. “Aino, I’m so sorry.”
She was shaking her head, murmuring, “No” over and over.
“Aino—”
“Go away. I, I’ve wanted to kill you for twenty years. I wanted to torture you the way they tortured me. I wanted you to feel all the pain of hell. And now … It’s you!” She started for the door and then realized she was in her own room. “I’ve got to think. You’ve got to go. Just go.” She grabbed his coat and hat and stuffed them against his chest. “Get out.” She felt hysteria rising. She fought it, choking off the rising scream. “Get out before I go crazy.”
She saw Aksel start to say something but stop. She opened the door and then stood next to it with her face to the wall. She heard him walking toward her. “Go,” she whispered through clenched teeth, her forehead on the wall, tears streaming down her face. She felt his hand on her shoulder and then he was gone.